Rajnish Mishra – Sunday Evening

Sunday evening

Sunday evening is worse than Monday morning,

The fear of death, says Sir Francis, is worse than death.

A sickly feeling rises and churns in my stomach,

even now, after I’ve lived through such seven hundred

and seventy non-workingSundays. It’s the same every time.

It starts rising from Saturday. In the morning

a panic reminder rings, a tightening in intestines.

Saturday evening warns me that the next

will be the last before death comes again.

Abigail George – Exodus or the spark of life is electricity

Exodus or the spark of life is electricity
(for my mother and father)

He remembers hearing the words
we are not couples that fight all
the time. He looks at his wife who
is not speaking to him. ‘We are
who we are’. And thinks to himself
that the sea is tired. Perhaps
as forlorn as he is. He’s a man in the garden. He imagines the sun

covering the dark water. Cold to the
touch. He wonders what the right
language of love is for winter guests.
How to make peace with his wife.
He wants to embrace her. Take her in his arms

as if she was a girl
again. Brush her hair out of her
face with his granadilla hands.

Forget that he is in the autumn
of his years. He wants to forget
that he used to do this for a living.
He wants to know if his unhappy
marriage is on the verge of cracking up. He wants to know
if she’s finally going to leave him.

Allasandra Raceen Buckner – YOU

You

So I’ve heard all these people
rappin’ ’bout relationships
But I’ve just lost one
myself
‘Bout 6’2 with some attitude
But I just wanted him
All to
myself
But I wasn’t the only one
The man up there
was calling him, too.
Dad, now that you’re gone,
I just don’t know what
to do.
You were loving, caring,
and intelligent.
You were always there
for me.
I will miss laughing with you
because, that’s what we would
always do.
I remember when
I was only 9 you taught me
the basics of
you.
You were a
businessman,
never taught by anyone
but you.
All I want to do now is
take my life
but I can’t do a recap
of you.
That’s an unforgivable sin
and something I don’t
wanna do.
So now all I gotta do
is stay close and
remember
the things I did
with you.
I never wanted you
to leave but
that’s what you had
to do.
You
were a man that
would do anything to
achieve his dreams;
would spoil us
and make us feel
like queens.
That’s what made you happy
and us too,
After grandma was gone,
you were, too.
You
let the bad stuff take
care of you.
We told you
everything would be okay,
and that’s what she told
you, too.
All we wanted was for you
to get help but
that wasn’t somethin’
you wanted
to do.
You
went through thick and thin
for us,
and that’s what we had to do
for you.
You asked why He did this
to you,
but he has plans for everyone,
including you!
He saw that you were hurting,
but He knew what He had
to do.
He knew it was going to hurt
a lot of pople
including you;
But it was the best
for us- even you.
Dad, I miss you a lot
and you know
that, too;
But now I know
to not let the bad stuff get
to you.
You’re happy now and that’s
all that matters to me-
that you are you!

Daddy, I love you.

ROBERT BEVERIDGE – LOVE OR SOME OTHER IMPLEMENT OF EXFOLIATION

Love or Some Other Implement of Exfoliation[1]
“Things have to keep breaking until they’re whole.” –Constance Plumley, “La Nuit”

The thing about the bombing of Dresden
was all the china. An entire industry
reduced to dust in the space
of a few hours.
When you showed
me your heart, Constance, I saw
a street, filled with rubble, blue-
flecked pieces scattered between,
and I asked you if you’d let me be
the jeweler with pots of glue
and molten gold. Days spent
with loupe attached to glasses,
a harvest of shards deposited
in a burlap sack,
then nights spent
at the jigsaw table, piece after piece
rotated, rearranged, until one demitasse
cup approached completion.
You clutched
my arm and begged “don’t leave me”
again and again; I told you
our work had just begun. An entire
profession remains to be reassembled.

This is the work we do, and from it
we shall emerge, not new, not pristine,
but stronger, a semblance of what we
were before. Imperfect but together.

1The title is a line from Tim Staley’s “Duet”.

ROBERT BEVERIDGE – BRUTAL TRUTHS & LYING LIGHT

Brutal Truths and Lying Light

You can peel off your scars
like so many old and dirty
band-aids. Pain makes a great
affectation, don’t you think?
The writers want you to reveal
your third nipple in the season
finale. Give them an expensive thrill.
Make no mistake, this is a game
of ratings and dogs’ breath.
Take another swig of condensed
Windex, another bite
of urinal cake. Breath is freshest
when it’s blue. Nice to see you.

DAVID SPICER – DADDY DEAREST

DADDY DEAREST

Ivanka, you love your nasty daddy,
you never dispute him or contradict
any of his gross tweets or lame edicts,
and you might even serve as his caddy.
But are you tempted to call him Fatty
when he eats too many Eggs Benedict,
not leaving the yellow-white plates unlicked,
or berate him for appearing too natty?
No, you say, I love my daddy dearest,
he’s my hero, my knight in dull armor,
and gives me what I want in the tower.
Besides, he’s the biggest, the fiercest
father of this cruel world, but can he purr
when he wants my love, before he glowers!

Jeffrey Zable – WHAT’S BEST

WHAT’S BEST

Hard to believe that all these people were fucked into the world,
but here they are and there isn’t much that can be done about it.
They need to be fed, clothed, roofed, and mostly entertained
so that they don’t get mad and do something punitive like
putting arsenic in the water or polluting the air with swear words
so loud that the rest of us go deaf and no longer can listen
to old Stones, Beach Boys, and Beatle’s songs.
Yes it’s best to be civil with all these people and try to make
friends with a few of them in case you get locked out of your
house without your cell phone so that if you need to call your
spouse to come open the door, they will open theirs and say,
“Of course, use mine!” and maybe give you a cup of tea
or a glass of juice while you wait.
It’s best to think of oneself as a world citizen and trust
everyone until there is cause to believe that someone
is trying to manipulate you into giving them your money
or using you as an listening board for all their problems. . .

Sapling’s Recent Interview with Jim Thompson of Cacti Fur

This week Sapling talks with Jim Thompson, Cacti Fur. * Sapling: What should people know who may not be familiar with Cacti Fur? JT: We have an aesthetic and you do too. Sometimes ours match and it’s cool. Sapling: How did your name come about? JT: We are in Southern New Mexico where there is lots and lots […]

M. STONE – THE ODDBALL REVEALS HERSELF EARLY ON

The Oddball Reveals Herself Early On

I was the only kid in junior high
who kept a trial-size bottle of liquid soap
in her bag. My classroom had a sink,
and during morning break, I washed my hands
until the teacher took note of my raw skin
and said, “Honey, please stop.”

Along with the lyrics of every eighties pop song,
I could recall all the symptoms of lockjaw
and botulism, rabies and plague, parasitic infections.
Like my grandmother, I inspected packaged food
for evidence of tampering.

I was terrified my clothes would grow too tight
as I sat at my desk. In school/prison, who would help
if snug panty elastic began digging into the crease
where thigh meets groin, cutting off the blood flow
and rendering my legs numb, gangrenous
by the time someone believed me?

The solution: garments that swallowed—
baggy underwear, my father’s flannel shirts,
sagging thrift shop jeans, and my aunt’s cast-off shoes:
size eight, when a size seven was plenty big.

While running the mile, one of those ill-fitting
sneakers flew off my foot and plopped on the asphalt
several yards before me. The other students didn’t pause,
not even to point and laugh. By then, they were used
to all the ways I showed the world I was never
going to be quite right.

EMILY RIVERA – TRASH

TRASH

Trash.
I like that word.
Trash.
What is it?

Is it that blonde girl behind Denny’s?
Maybe your uncle who slept with them all?
Maybe the actual trash can in your room?
The one overflowing with paper?

Maybe it’s that one plate of nachos no one finished
Or it could obviously be that one pan of food,
The one with all that… dull green mold
Disgusting.

Trash.
Why the hell is there a lot of trash?
Why do people call it hideous?
Why is it called trash? Trash.

Is your life trash?
I hope not, that’ll just be sad.
Is your friend’s life trash?
It better be compared to yours.

Well, I think trash is beautiful.
Trash is filled with a wonder of color.
Don’t you see that weird mystery liquid?
Amazing.

The thin pieces of hair draping over the sides.
The red spots from the ketchup.
The orange peels from, well, oranges.
The yellow peels from bananas.

The green everything- mold, lettuce and whatnot.
The multiple wrappers from various brands.
That one bare steak t-bone.

Wait, now that I think about
Trash is disgusting.